


Policy of Truth

by electrobluesforbukkawhite



Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: F/M, Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:19:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrobluesforbukkawhite/pseuds/electrobluesforbukkawhite
Summary: How an eleven year long relationship and a thirteen year old band died on the same day.A girl stuck in the middle of it all, interviewed over the surrounding events.





	1. Chapter 1

Today was thirty-three days since it happened. Since it all kicked off. Since, what seemed would be the end of your life.   
The thirty-three days didn't fly by at all. If anything, they felt like years. Not a single second of it was enjoyable; it drained on you like a leech. 

 

Sunday, June 15th 1995 - 12:30pm

  
The sun was glistening this morning. At least, the ITV weatherman said it was. You hadn't a clue, as your curtains hadn't been opened for the past five weeks. But, today, you'd have to open them. You'd have to cover up all pain you were in and just put on a brave face... today, your private life was going to be leaked to the public.   
It wasn't the first time something like this was going to happen. Ever since the absolute shitstorm that was the Devotional tour, everything you had done became documented by some form of press. You weren't used to it at first, considering you were only famous briefly during the eighties, but it had become second nature by now.   
Today was the first day in months you'd spoken to someone who wasn't your mum, best friend or assistant. It was also the first day in months that you'd work a full face of makeup, cleaned up your flat or composed a genuine, full outfit. You needed to get your life back on the line sometime soon, though...  
"They're here." Jen, your assistant, referred to the small press group waiting outside your door. Well, Jen wasn't even really your assistant. She was your ex-boyfriend's, but she stayed with you instead of him. You smile and nod, too anxious to actually give a strong verbal response. God knows how you were going to answer an hours worth of an interview about the turmoil that your life had become.

"Hello, it's good to see you're looking healthy."  
Before you knew it, the interview was underway. You were sat opposite a renowned journalist, Susan Anderson. She was known for being ruthless and not holding back on her questions, which made you anxious, but in a way, it would relieve you. It would almost be like a therapy session.   
"Thank you." A fake smile travelled across your face, from cheek to cheek. Though, part of it was real; you were happy to know you were at least looking healthy.   
"How are you feeling?" She asked, leaning her forearms against the chairs of your leather armchair. Al used to sit in that.   
"I've been better!" A fake laugh. Always a brilliant way to cover it all up. "But, no - I'm improving."  
"That's good. Now, if you don't mind me asking," as the interview started, in your mind, your eyes had rolled so far back that they were about to come out of your head... "How's Dave?"   
Dave Gahan? Of all people? He was a great, close friend of yours. You knew exactly how he was doing: awfully. But of all people, Dave?! It felt almost insulting.   
"He's..." you began, but unsure how to respond "doing quite well."  
You knew exactly why she was asking. After Alan, your partner's departure, he left a nasty mark. He released to the press all of the horrible secrets the group were all hiding as his statement to leave. He sold his, theirs and your story to the highest paying magazine. Dave's drug addiction was leaked, Martin's alcoholism was leaked, Fletch's unlikeable personality was leaked and this, most importantly, left you in the middle of it all. Susan was asking because she wanted to know if Dave was, well, still actually alive.   
"He's doing great, spending time with his family in California I believe." You knew fully well that he wasn't doing that at all. If family was a concoction of heroin and cocaine, then yes, he was definitely doing that!  
"That's good, that's good, and what about Martin and Andrew? Are they good too?"   
This was a strange interview. It really was beginning to feel like a genuine therapy session...  
"They're doing well. I haven't actually spoken to them themselves but I caught up with Martin's wife a few days ago and she says they're all good." Why is it anyone else's business anyway?  
"That's good." Susan said, before flipping the page in the notebook on her lap. Now it was starting to feel like an interrogation... "Now, tell us, what happened on May 13th?"  
You sighed ever so quietly. You didn't want to seem rude. If anything, you agreed to this, so you couldn't really be rude to her.

 

Tuesday May 13th 1995, 11:32am

  
Alan walked out on you exactly thirteen hours ago, just a mere five hours after arriving home from that dreadful tour. You were broken, fragile and lost. Stuck in a state of disbelief, also. Too many things had happened in the space of less than a day.   
You say and waited by the telephone, waiting to hear it ring, whether it be from him, Mute or one of the boys. Bloody anyone, it really didn't matter who. You were alone, and you needed someone to talk to.   
The phone did eventually ring, but it wasn't your Al. It was, perhaps, one of the last people you wanted to speak to.   
"Hello?" Your voice was dry and rough. You spent the night drinking alone and you woke up with a horrific hangover.   
"Yeah, hi." It was Fletch, one of the reasons why Al left. "I've just seen Alan."  
"Have you." You already knew what was going to happen.   
"Yeah, did you know he was gonna leave?" Fletch was looking for someone to scream at, and you could hear it in his voice. Chances are, he'd already been losing it at Al as usual and Al had just left. You were next in line. Little did he know, you weren't even with him anymore.   
"No." You lied straight through your teeth in the flattest, most monotone voice you could have done. After yesterday, you cared about absolutely nothing.   
"Right." He didn't believe you. He always thought the worst of you, and it was the most annoying thing. "You didn't know your boyfriend was leaving the band?"  
"No, I didn't." The same, bland, monotone voice exited your mouth.   
Fletch gave up on you and slammed the phone down. Chances are, he was probably panicking, as they had just lost the musician in the band. And, you didn't even care...


	2. 2

Sunday, June 15th 1995 - 12:48pm

From what you were told by Martin, the only person who had actually been to visit you, was that Alan called a meeting for all the boys to come to. Only him and Fletch turned up, considering Dave was in California with Teresa. No, not his 'family'. When Alan abruptly announced his departure unapologetically, Martin simply rolled his eyes and Fletch kicked off instantly. Martin told you that he was calling him every name under the sun, with the intention of persuading him to stay but resulting in making him want to leave even more. Chances are, if he wasn't so nasty to him, all of this personal business wouldn't have been leaked to the press.   
"Well, Alan left the band, didn't he?" You tried to avoid following in Al's footsteps and being an absolute cunt by leaking everything. "He wasn't happy, and he needed to leave."  
"Why was he unhappy?" Knew that wasn't going to be enough.   
"Um, well it was a variety of things." There wasn't any easy way out of this, so you just succumbed to the questioning. "He didn't feel very appreciated, if I remember correctly. He would always be in the studio for god knows how long and he wouldn't even get his name in the credits. And, if I'm completely honest, I don't blame him." You began to vent. "He would genuinely be there, grinding on for hours and hours for almost three months straight. When it was like that, I hardly saw him."  
"Well, surely he could have just requested for that issue to be solved."  
You mentally rolled your eyes again. "Well, I can't speak for him on his behalf, but," you began to get increasingly defensive of the man who walked out on you "I saw how much it got to him and it wasn't too great for him, and if it were me, I'd want to get my own back."  
"So Alan did it in revenge?"  
"I'd assume so, yeah..." 

Monday, July 19th 1989 - 7:55pm

Today was the fifth day so far of the boys recording their new album. Though, unlike the past six, you swore to yourself that you'd sit this one out, providing no material or input. You wanted to avoid all the drama and have some time away from Al.   
It was still broad daylight outside; lovely weather, too. So, you sat out on the porch, with a cigarette and a bottle of wine, all to yourself. For a moment, you get lost in your thoughts... is this what your life has come to? Drinking alone, jobless and childless? You let out a sigh, quickly followed by the sound of the door being slammed. You blink ever so slowly. As usual.   
"Al!?" You shout, just to make sure it's him, and not some serial killer.   
No response, but the sound of loud, heavy footsteps up the stairs. Yeah, it was him. You'd best leave him alone for a minute, otherwise he'll end up kicking off at you. Something you'd learned after six years of being with him. You finished your cigarette, put the wine back in the fridge and followed him upstairs. What was he going to be whinging about this time?  
You opened your bedroom door to see him in bed, somehow managing to be undressed, already in bed and smoking (one of your) cigarettes (thieving bastard). You rolled your eyes. Again. It seemed like your entire relationship was an eyeroll.   
"What's the matter with you?" You sat cross-legged at the end of the bed.   
If looks could kill, Alan would have probably killed you there and then.   
"What do you bloody think?"   
"Traffic?" You joked. Can't be dealing with his negative vibes, eh?  
"No." He wasn't having it. That, or he was too thick to realise you were having a goof and a gaff.   
"Oh, um..." carry it on or get straight to the point? "Was Fletch being a cunt again?"  
"Yeah." He went in a huff.   
"What's happened now?"   
"What do you think?" Sigh, he was always rude to you whenever he was in a mood.  
"Well, I don't know. I wasn't there, was I?" You snapped back. Could've been ruder, but you kept it in. Probably should have, knowing what he can be like.   
"No, it's just, he always tells me to do things and change what I've already done. I can't deal with it, he's constantly bloody breathing down my neck and it drives me mad. He's honestly just there to whinge at me!"  
You laughed. "I bet you're missing me there, now." You referred to your previous input, when you'd often be the mediator of events like this.   
"Yeah, definitely." He responded, sarcastically. Maybe he thought all you did was scream at Andy on his behalf. He flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray on his bedside table, of which he nicked from yours. Why doesn't he just buy one for himself?  
"Just go to the studio without them and finish it on your own." Like he had done for the past two. You two would be in the studio until the early hours of the morning, finishing the final mixes of whatever songs there were. Typical group project.   
"Yeah, that's what I'm going to have to end up doing. But do you know how frustrating that is?" Yes, you did know, he'd whine about it every time they were recording. "Finishing all the work and getting next to no credit."

Sunday, June 15th 1995 - 13:01pm

You realised; Alan had every right to be so angry. He had every right to walk out, because whenever he tried to talk to the boys about it, they'd ignore him. He wasn't given the recognition he deserved, and it wasn't obnoxious of him to be aware of the fact that he deserved more. He put his heart and soul into those records, and his name alone wasn't even on them.  
"Was Alan's departure the reason behind your separation?" A question you were asked that hit home quite hard. You knew the truth, and it was something that wasn't yet leaked.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday May 13th 1995, 10:03pm

Alan and yourself got out of the taxi, still not speaking, as neither of you had spoke in hours. You didn't know what you'd done wrong; he just had such a toxic atmosphere around him these past few weeks. It was probably that tour draining on him.  
You followed behind him as he strode into the flat building. As you both got in the elevator, you tried to have some form of interaction with him, stroking and trying to hold his hand. Unsuccessful; he didn't even move his fingers at all when you slipped yours between his.   
This wasn't fair on you at all - why was he acting as though you didn't exist? Why were you always on the receiving end of his tantrums?  
You let go of his hand, no response coming from him as you do so. You prepared yourself for whatever bullshit argument that was about to unfold as soon as you got into the flat.   
Like you had been the entire day, you followed behind him as he walked into the flat. He dashed across the flat, completely ignoring your presence behind him, straight into the bedroom. Better known as his 'tantrum room'.   
The door slammed right before you. He knew he was upsetting you, and you knew it as well. You opened the door angrily, ready to scream at him.   
But what you saw... it wasn't right. He was packing.   
"Alan!?" You shout. The first verbal communication you'd had since you boarded the plane.   
Nothing. He just proceeded to pack.   
"What are you doing?!" You approached him, taking whatever he had packed into his suitcase back out again.   
"Oh, would you just fuck off for once!" Quicker than you could say go, he took everything you took out and put it back in, then zipping the bag up. "I need some time away from you."  
He'd been away for a year and a half and you'd only just caught up with him a week ago for the last five shows on the tour. Something was fishy and you could tell it was from miles away.   
"Um, no you don't." You walked in his tracks, in front of him, getting in the way of the door. Your back was pressed against the doorframe, your hand flicking the lock as he attempted to push past. Not on your watch, you thought.   
"Let me past."  
"No."  
"Let me fucking past!" He rose his voice at you.   
"Why do you want to go already?!" You might as well at least find out... he was still trying to push past you, but you were still ever so stubborn.   
"Why does it matter?" He kept trying to undermine you by not giving you a straight answer, and it was driving you insane.   
By now, you'd had enough.   
"Because I haven't seen you in over a fucking year." You began "Because you've been with me for like four days and you already want to leave me. I haven't even done anything, Alan. We've been absolutely fine up until now!"  
Al gave up and dropped his bag, falling onto the bed behind him whilst doing so. He held his head in his hands, anxiously scratching through his hair. You could hear every breath he took, and the anxiety and anger coming out of him was rubbing off on you.   
"I'm leaving the band." He mumbled. "I can't stay. I've got to go. I don't want to be there anymore."  
"No you're fucking not."   
The lack of communication infuriated you. There has never been any secrets between you both.   
At least, that's what he thought.   
You swallowed the guilt you were constantly reminded of, and proceeded to focus such strong feelings onto the current situation.   
"What makes you think you're leaving?" You ask, worrying about how his departure would affect your life. You wouldn't be able to stay friends with Dave, you'd be forced to pick between the two. You'd lose the main source of income, if he was to stay with you. You'd lose your opportunity of art, your chance to write songs for the band. You couldn't sing to save your life, but you liked writing songs and having them put to good use. But if Alan leaves - it's him or them.   
"I'm sick of it all." He stood up, flicking the lock and opening the door. "I'm sick of you thinking you can tell me what to do with my life."  
Whilst he spoke, you couldn't stop yourself from feeling guilty. You always did whenever you argued. Whenever you made him upset or angry - what you did would always creep up on you. Even when he made you upset... you always felt like you deserved it. It would result in instant forgiveness. You didn't want to hurt him even more that you already have - he just doesn't know of it. Yet. 

Friday 12th June 1990 - 10:41pm

You waited backstage with the intention of surprising Alan, as you hadn't seen him in six months. Tonight's show was in New York, and you were more than excited to see him.   
As you hid behind the curtain, you managed to peek through a slit, seeing Alan walk by with Martin jumping on his back. When they were out of the studio, they had such a great relationship. You were always happy to see them finally getting along, for once.   
"Boo!" You scream at Alan and Martin, jumping out of the curtain as they stumbled past.   
"Fucking hell!" Alan screamed, falling back to the floor with Martin still on his back. You laugh, your smile reaching out from ear to ear, helping them both up.   
"Oh, its you, princess." Alan laughed, sighing with relief.   
"Good to see you!" Martin put his hand on your shoulder "I could have died from a heart attack, but it's still nice to see you!"   
"We're going for drinks, you coming with us?" The excitement had already left Alan... in reality though, when were they not going for drinks after a show?  
"Of course I am!" But, you'd never turn down the chance to get wankered.   
11:12pm  
The three of you were sitting in a booth together. Dave and Andy had disappeared, gone for a cigarette, presumably. One of the very few times you'd turned down going for a smoke.   
"Where's Su?" You asked Martin, whilst you were hunched up in Alan's arm. It felt a little bit awkward, as if he was third wheeling.   
"Oh, she's back home still. She's not been too well." He gazed into his drink aimlessly. Didn't look happy at all.   
"Oh no, is she alright?" You actually hated Su, not genuinely, but a little bit. She was always so rude and distant towards you.   
"She's just been a bit sick. Nothing too bad."  
"Bet she's pregnant." Al chipped in.   
"Shut up Alan!"   
"Fuck knows." Martin laughed, "Could do without a child, but what can I do."  
"Aw, well I'm sure everything will be fine whatever happens."   
You always were a kind and friendly drunk, weren't you?  
Perhaps a little too kind for your own good, sometimes.   
"I'm just nipping to the loo." You turned to Al. Your makeup felt like it had all slid off, it was bloody boiling here!  
"Alright babe, I'll just go and have a fag. Mart are you coming?" Alan kissed you on the cheek as you slid out of the booth.   
"No, I'll just get another drink I reckon. Feel like shit." Martin sighed.   
You walked on up into the women's bathroom. It was two sets of stairs up... good job you weren't bursting. You watched your reflection in the mirror as you reapplied your powder. Feeling quite proud of your look today, you looked at yourself from every angle possible. The little black ensemble you got from Dior really was worth the heinous price tag, especially with the way it accentuated your shape.   
"It's a nice dress."  
You gasp. Weren't you in here alone?! You made sure before you started posing in the mirror.   
The sound came from your left - the door frame. It was Martin, leaning on the edge, smiling at you.   
"Oh," you tried to hide the mini anxiety attack he just caused for you "thanks!" Play it off, act normal.   
He walked towards you. You felt a little bit uncomfortable, but you played it off, again. It was Martin - what's the worst that he could do?  
"You're more than welcome." He stood so close to you, eventually running his hand through the bottom of your hair, hanging past your chest.   
You definitely felt uncomfortable. You were blushing all over, and you really wish you weren't. You genuinely couldn't tell if it was because you were anxious and wanted him to go... or if you adored the attention.   
Not once had you ever been alone with Martin. Not once in the twenty years you'd known him. You only knew him through Dave, and you only knew him growing up because Dave would sometimes walk home from school with him. It was only when you got in a relationship with Alan that you started to speak to him a bit. You liked him. He was intriguing... something about him endeared you. Maybe it was the lack of communication you two had. Maybe it was the poor relationship he had with Alan. Or, perhaps, it was the words he wrote for the band.   
"Alan's downstairs, Mart." Quietly, you responded to him. You didn't want to say no to him. For some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to. But you needed to show some respect for the man downstairs.   
But why should you show respect to someone who has been in a relationship with you for six years without proposing? Why respect a man who would almost always take the anger from the studio out on you? Why respect the man who happily married and had a child with his partner before you, but was reluctant to do so with you?   
You grew slightly resentful for just a moment, and forced yourself to forget about him.   
Martin moved his hand from your chest up to your face, caressing you as he did so. "Shhh..."   
His hand rigorously pulled your neck towards him, making his lips touch yours for the first time, and you didn't pull away. You didn't even think to do it. He was demanding you.   
Martin didn't stand that much taller than you, especially in heels. You were the same height as him. His lips felt completely different to Alan's... you couldn't pinpoint what it was. It wasn't better, nor was it worse.   
Then, reality hit you. It hit you like lightning, bolting you away from him. You tore yourself off of his lips, ignoring how blissful it may have felt. It wasn't the right thing to do, and you knew it wasn't.   
"I can't..." You ran past him, straight downstairs. You began to cry - well, of course you did. You now had a moral dilemma.   
You ran straight outside to see Alan standing with Dave and Andy, still smoking the same cigarette. Oh, how much can become so fucked up in such a short amount of time. You ran straight into Alan, straight into his arms. That's the man you love. And you wouldn't take up any moment of pleasure in return of him.   
"Hey, hey..." he stopped talking to Dave and Andy about whatever they were doing and immediately held you. "What's wrong, princess?"   
You didn't say anything.   
"You alright?" Dave asked.   
You still didn't say anything.   
It was partially your fault, and you wouldn't say anything from here onwards. You wouldn't dare ruin Alan's or Martin's careers. Nor would you ruin the rare relationship they'd sometimes have...


End file.
